''I canât imagine how the guy can be an angel like this over the years'' -- Joe Namath on Derek Jeter

TAMPA, Fla. — They sat shoulder to shoulder in the dugout yesterday, these two titans of New York sports history, and by the time they parted from their 20-minute chinwag, Derek Jeter did something once believed to be impossible:

He made Joe Namath sound modest, and look back on his own legacy with a moral squint.

History is always reductionist, especially when it’s revisited during the course of a brief interview with a dozen strangers on the dugout steps of Steinbrenner Field.

But Namath is nothing if not forthcoming and sincere. And something about being in Jeter’s orbit throughout the late morning clearly made this 70-year-old grandfather, a recovering alcoholic, re-examine his own place as New York’s first media superstar.

Namath put it this way, and it’s not a stretch to say it sounded wistful:

"When we get to see him in person or on television, and how he conducts himself away from the field, and knowing the scrutiny he’s had over the years, I can’t imagine how the guy can be an angel like this over the years," Namath said, as he held his 3-year-old granddaughter, Jemma.

"He’s to be respected for every phase of his life, it seems. And many of us fell short with some of that, but we learned to bounce back. It’s human to error, and I know about that. We do our best to come back. Derek hasn’t made many errors that I’ve been able to witness."

Jeter, being Jeter, wasn’t going to be lionized by anybody, not even the most charismatic sports figure of his father’s generation. Informed that Namath called him an angel, the Yankee captain’s expression brightened as he replied, "Puts a lot of pressure on me."

Namath, who lives nearby, didn’t show up to beatify a shortstop. As an honorary Yankees coach (issued jersey No. 12) — he sat with Joe Girardi behind the cage during BP. He took the lineup card to the umpires before the Yankees’ 4-2 victory over Washington. And he threw out the first pitch to Jeter, heaving a parabola from the grass that hit its target squarely, without its receiver moving his mitt a centimeter.

But mostly, he spoke of Jeter, whom he had met only once previously, when they did a Nobody Beats The Wiz spot in 1997.

And for a guy who was a sports marketing superstar before the term was invented — someone who could sell everything from panty hose to typewriters (ask your folks) — he knows the game is played on a different level now. He knows very few can combine star appeal with performance and gravitas.

So he was asked whether he can relate to Jeter, and here’s what he said: "Only if I had a big enough head to try to — no. He’s special," Namath replied.

"Some of the things in life that athletes and people in the public eye go through, I can relate to. But his career — where he’s been, what he’s done — I can’t relate to that, no. I was a part of a couple teams in my career (that) won championships. But he’s done quite a bit more. So no, I can’t relate to what he’s done."

It’s true: The man who singlehandedly forced the most important merger in professional sports history cannot match Jeter’s résumé. Namath only had five good seasons in the pro football. His last playoff victory was Super Bowl III, and his record over his last seven years with the Jets was 23-38, as the Weeb Ewbank era came to an inglorious close. With his knees barely functional, his time in New York was over by age 31.

During his healthy AFL years, however, he was an athlete of unforgettable flair and aura, right down to the shoes. Outside of Sonny Jurgensen, he had no peer as a pure passer, and his arm and guts separated him from all the rest.

It was all about style: Namath had the machismo of a gunslinger, and it hardly mattered that he often threw more interceptions than touchdowns. In a league known for high-risk passing, mistakes of commission were not frowned upon. He made them out of sheer audacity, and in some ways, he was celebrated for it.

Not only was he the best of his time, he was a man of his time.

In other words, he had little in common with Jeter.

Here’s one commonality: Both were effective leaders in their way. Talk to the old guys who played with him, and they’d tell you that Namath was never a numbers guy; he only cared about the bottom line.

"It goes without saying what he’s accomplished in his career, playing in New York," said Jeter. "I didn’t watch him play football, because I was too young. But yeah, I admire his confidence that he played with."

It made him the biggest show in town. Jeter now has that mantle. And nobody is happier about that than a local 70-year-old grandfather with a Florida tan and a clear head.